Beachcombing
by rachigurl5
Summary: Ron takes his daughter to the beach and does some thinking. Set to Jimmy Buffett's "Delaney Talks to Statues".


Beachcombing _Delaney Talks to Statues  
By: Jimmy Buffett___

_Delaney talks to statues  
As she dances 'round the pool.  
She chases cats through Roman ruins  
And stomps on big toadstools._

_She speaks a language all her own  
That I cannot discover,  
But she knows I love her so  
When I tuck her 'neath the covers._

"What's that?"  The little girl let go of her father's hand as she ran to where the waves met the shore.  Quickly, he ran and grabbed her hand before she could get too close to the water's edge.

"That's the ocean, Laney," he said, running a freckled hand through his red hair.  Ron slowly led her to the edge of the water and helped her off with her tiny shoes.

"I _know_ it's the ocean, daddy," said Delaney, sounding so much like Hermione that it brought a grin to Ron's face.  "I was talking about that bird.  Mummy and I read a book about all kinds of birds and I wonder what kind it is.  He looks friendly."

Ron took off his own shoes and they stood on the shore.  "I don't know.  It might be a gull?"

"Will Uncle Harry know?  Maybe I'll ask him."

"Perhaps."

Delaney was a strange child.  Right down to her name—Hermione had insisted on it, and Ron had thought it odd, but not odd enough to wage war over.  After she was born, Ron saw how appropriate it was; it fit her.  Delaney had the Weasley red hair and Hermione's curls.  Ron insisted that she looked just like Hermione, but she would just laugh and point to her big blue eyes and say, "Look at those eyes!  She's a Weasley, through and through."

In her five years, Delaney proved to be a strong blend of both of her parents.  Her concern and thirst for knowledge burst with Hermione, and her passion and quick tongue came courtesy of her father.  As a toddler, especially, she was prone to temper tantrums and a strong stubbornness.  So much so, Mrs. Weasley swore up and down that she'd never seen such a spitfire, at which point Ron would pick up the child and tickle her stomach, muttering words of congratulations.  "Don't encourage that behaviour, Ron!  You'll just make her more difficult!  I've read about—" 

"Hermione.  Darling.  Light of my life.  You read too much."

Hermione would roll her eyes until Ron would urge Delaney to go to her.  "Look, Laney, mummy's got her serious face on.  What do we do when mummy's got her serious face on?"

Delaney would wobble forward on her freshly two-year-old legs and tug on Hermione's shirt until she would bend down, when Delaney would push Hermione's hair behind her ear and come close to whisper, in a very two-year old way, a phrase that her father had used so many times, she'd committed it to memory. "The Cannons are the best ruddy team in Great Britain and are grossly underestimated due to bad management."  This would break Hermione into giggles, and Ron would kiss her and tell her not to worry.  "She's got us as parents—we've saved the world, I think we can manage raising a child."

Ron hugged his jacket closer to his body and idly wondered if Laney would be warm enough in her jumper.  It had rained hard during the night, and it was colder than he'd thought when he and Laney bid Hermione goodbye for a "Daddy-Daughter Day" at the beach.  It was June, and the three of them were staying in a small cottage at the shore as a summer treat.  

Laney splashed in the breaking of the waves.  "It's cold," she said as she kicked the water.  

"Do you need a jacket?  We can go back to the house," Ron told her.

"No.  But the water feels like bee stings."

Ron laughed.  "You're right, it's too chilly to walk in.  Come on, I'll put your shoes back on."

"No!  I like it.  It makes my toes giggle."

Ron smiled and took his daughter's hand, and they continued to walk in the gentle breaking of the waves.

_Father, daughter  
Down by the water  
Shells sink, dreams float  
Life's good on our boat_.

_Delaney draws me pictures  
She finger paints the sand  
We chase the dogs and hop like frogs  
Then I do my bad handstands._

Ron wondered when it was that everything had come together.  The Order had defeated Voldemort, but it had been a long, dark battle.  Ron still dreamt of the night that Hogwarts fell, and he knew Hermione did as well, when he would wake in the middle of the night to her sobs.  He could do no more but hold her during those nights, then check on Delaney in her room.  For many nights, when she was an infant, Ron would awake to find Hermione asleep in the rocker next to Delaney's crib.  "I wanted to make sure…" Hermione would begin, but Ron would hush her—he understood.  After what had happened to Hagrid…to Dumbledore…to Ron's father…to Professor Lupin…well, there were many reasons to make sure.

They only had to look in Harry's eyes when he would fall into his silences to remember.  Delaney was a blessing, not only to Ron and Hermione, but to "Uncle Harry", who nearly took as much pride in her as her own parents.  

Delaney had been a few months old before Harry would even agree to touch her.  "I still…I don't want to _break_ her," he said with a panicked look in his eyes. 

Hermione would laugh at him.  "Honestly, Harry, she's Ron's and mine.  She's sturdier than the lot of us, I imagine.  Just…move your arm a bit…Harry, she's not a Quaffle, support there a tad…_there_."

And it was magic.  Ron saw it and grinned just as Harry looked up, the helpless, out-of-his-element look in his eyes gone.  Ron understood—he had felt the same way.  "She's so _small_," Harry said as he put his face close to hers.  "You—"  Harry turned red and glanced at Ron.  "You two made her.  You _made_ her."

Ron blushed.  "Let's not get into the particulars, mate."  Then, softer, "She is amazing, isn't she?"

Harry, eyes still wide, had nodded.  From that day on, Harry didn't just come to dinner, just come to watch a Quidditch match…every time he walked in the door of Ron and Hermione's flat, he came with a little bit of candy, a small treat, any sort of surprise for Delaney.  The most recent addition to the Harry Potter collection was a toy figurine of Vicktor Krum, much to Hermione's delight and Ron's chagrin.  

"Just a reminder that you're a bleeding idiot," Harry had said with a smirk while Delaney let her new toy strut around the dining room table.  "And that there are people who can attest to it."

Ron had called Harry a name that made Hermione gasp, "Not in front of the baby, Ron!" but she was smiling.  Ron loved it when she smiled.

_She's growin' up too fast for me  
And askin' lots of questions.  
Some I know the answers to  
And some I'm lookin' for suggestions._

"Daddy!  Oh, daddy, look!"  Delaney's tiny voice tore him away from the water. 

Lying on the beach, several meters from the water's edge, was a dead seagull.

"Oh.  Oh, _daddy_.  It's…it's dead, isn't it?"

Ron picked her up and held her close.  "Uh, maybe.  Don't look at it, Laney."  He kissed the freckle at the tip of her nose and tried to steer her away.

But her eyes stayed wide and glued to the dead bird and her voice sounded shaky and small.  "What happened to it?"  Her eyes grew tearful as she looked up at the sky.  "It won't fly again, will it?  It won't, oh, daddy, I _know_ it won't."

Ron carried her away from the carcass.  "Don't think about it, honey.  Just don't.  I'm sorry."

"But…"  Tears ran down her face freely now as she tried to constrain the wild red curls behind her ears.  "But _why_?"

Ron didn't have any words and his heart ached.  He could still remember…

*        *        *

_And some of the things I've seen  
Maybe she won't have to see._

"What do you mean he's dead?  He…well, he can't be dead?"  Ron nervously ran a hand through his hair.  Dumbledore couldn't be dead.  He was going to lead the Order of the Phoenix to victory over Voldemort's growing army.  He was…he was _Dumbledore_, the most powerful wizard of the age.  There had to be a mistake.

Sirius nodded gravely.  "He's gone, Ron.  Voldemort-" Ron flinched at the name and Hermione suddenly grasped his hand.  "Dumbledore tried to face him, he held him off as long as he could for—"

"Me," Harry said.  Ron and Hermione jumped; they'd forgotten he was in the room, he'd been so quiet.  Harry's breathing was ragged and Ron felt Hermione go toward him, but he'd held her fast.  Now wasn't the time.  "He died trying to protect _me_."

"Oh, _Harry_—" Hermione let a singly cry from her throat and clutched Ron's hand even harder.  Ron concentrated hard on a candle behind Sirius' head and took very deep breaths.  

"Harry, stop.  This isn't going to get anything accomplished," Sirius said.  He put his hand on Harry's shoulder and looked at him so intensely, Ron felt out of place.

He cleared his throat.  "We'll just…"

Sirius looked at him.  "Yes, go.  See to Gryffindor.  Harry will be up in a minute."

Ron and Hermione left still holding hands.  It was late, nearly one in the morning.  Hermione made it all the way to the common room before—

"Ron.  Oh.  Oh.  _Oh,_ Ron, Dumbledore is—"

"I know," he'd croaked.  

"But…" her voice dropped to a whisper.  "What do we _do_?  He's gone.  It's over.  We can't, he…but…_why_?"  Then she broke down completely.  Ron held her that night and promised himself that he would every night after that, until he died.

*        *        *

_But there's a lot I want to pass along  
That was handed down to me__._

It was a long time before Delaney calmed down.  They came upon a hole in the sand, no doubt dug by a group of neighborhood children.  The tide had come and gone, and filled it with seawater.  It was so large, it could have easily been a small pond.  

Ron idly picked up a stone and skimmed it across the surface of the water.  Six skips.  _Not bad_, he thought with a grin.

"How…" Delaney wiped at her eyes.  "How did you do that?"

Ron smiled.  She was so much like Hermione sometimes it was scary.  Her curiosity dried up what was left of her tears as she cocked her head to the side.  "It's easy," he said.  "You just try to toss the stone across the water without having it sink."

Her eyes were narrowed in concentration.  "Can you do it again?"

He showed her again.  "The important thing is to get the right stone.  It's got to be flat, you see?  Like this one.  Now you try."

Delaney held the stone in her hand and looked hard at it, biting her lip.  Then she surveyed the water carefully.  Finally, she threw it…

_Plop!_

Her face screwed up in concentration.  "I wanna try again."  Ron grinned; he could almost see Hermione as she slaved over the Polyjuice Potion as he looked at his daughter's face.

"Here, try to use your wrist a bit more…"

Six rocks later, she still couldn't get the rock to do more but make a tiny splash before sinking to the bottom.

"Try once more, Laney.  Then we'll head back for dinner."  She sighed, picked a stone, and threw it.

She was so engrossed in watching her rock that she didn't notice Ron pull out his wand, whisper a couple well-chosen words and point his wand at the stone.  It steadied itself, and bounced once, twice, three times…

"Delaney!  Four skips!  Fantastic!"  Ron quickly put his wand away, picked up his daughter and twirled her around, planting a kiss on her cheek.  Her face was flushed with accomplishment and her smile was wide.  

"Did you see it?  It just _went_."  Her eyes suddenly fluttered downwards.  "I had fun today, daddy."

Ron pushed her bangs back from her forehead.  "Me, too.  We'll have to leave mum at home and do this again, hm?"

Delaney shook her head.  "Mummy can come next time, but promise we'll do this again?  Me and you?"

Ron put his head to hers and looked at the eyes that were so like his own.  "I promise," he said, putting one more kiss on her cheek before setting her back on her feet.

He could remember skipping stones with his own father at The Burrow.  Ron wished, as he often did, that Arthur had lived long enough to meet Delaney.  Arthur had been hit by a "stray curse", the Ministry liked to call it, during a long-awaited raid on Malfoy Manor.  He'd survived long enough to see his family and say his goodbyes before he drifted away.  Another casualty of the war.  The war they'd fought, that they'd won.

Ron tried very hard not to be bitter—Hermione told him the same things she'd said in school when Malfoy would goad him into frenzy.  _"They're not worth it, Ron."_  She'd hold his face and look into his eyes.  "I hate to see what you let them do to you."

"'What I let them do to me?!'  It's what they've _done_, Hermione!"

"But you don't have to let them make you this way!" She'd look away from him and sigh.  "Remember what Dumbledore said—revenge is a dangerous thing.  I _know_ you want it; I want it, too.  But it's _over_.  Please," she'd say softly, looking back into his eyes.  "Let it be over.  The people who've hurt us are being punished."

"It's not enough.  I want…" Ron would look around, and his eyes would finally fall on Delaney.  "I want to promise her that it won't happen again.  That she won't have to live through what we did.  Merlin, Hermione, that she won't have to see people she cares about die when she's thirteen!"

Hermione put her arms around him and rested her head on his chest.  "We can't promise her that.  But we can try.  We can trust each other, and we can try our best.  It's all we can do, Ron.  Please.  Let it be _over_."

_Delaney talks to statues  
As she dances 'round the pool.  
She chases cats through Roman ruins  
And stomps on big toadstools._

_She speaks a language all her own  
Just a little like her mother.  
And she knows I love her so  
When I tuck her 'neath the covers__._

_  
_Those days felt far away as Ron let the thoughts wash away in the sounds of the ocean and Delaney's singing as they walked home.  The sun was setting.  Light strained though the wispy clouds left over from the rainstorm and highlighted the sky in a dusty pink.  The sun lingered a moment on the tall, gangly man and his small, skipping daughter, making their hair glow like strands of spun gold in firelight.  Then, in an instant…

It was over.

_Chorus:  
Father, daughter  
Down by the water.  
Shells sink, dreams float  
Life's good on our boat.  
Shells sink, dreams float  
Life's good on our boat._


End file.
